


Move On

by KiraMae



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:58:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiraMae/pseuds/KiraMae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair and the Warden, once lovers, deal with their lingering attraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Move On

**Author's Note:**

> All characters and settings belong to Bioware.
> 
> No fluff, no smut, not-quite angst, sorry kids. This wee little one-off is pretty much me working through leftover feelings for that stupid handsome charming heartbreaking bastard.

His eyes followed her, fascinated; he couldn't look away.

The noble men murmured amongst themselves, commenting on the graceful way she spun as she danced, but they hadn't seen her true grace, as she whirled through a battlefield too fast to follow, blade in each hand.

The praised her beauty, her porcelain skin and artful red lips, but he knew her beauty was best highlighted not with rouge on her cheeks but with blood spatter and a fierce grin upon her face.

They complimented her fine, embroidered silk gown, but he'd seen the way her leather and mail hugged her body and pitied them that they did not know how beautiful she _really_ was.

He'd missed her, since taking the throne. Missed her throaty laugh, her clever wit, her ribald jokes. He regretted his harsh words, for she'd been in the right, she had shown mercy when he'd been blinded by thirst for revenge, and he longed to have a moment alone with her, to beg her forgiveness, but he knew things would never be as they once were.

He was a King now, and ever under the watchful eye of both the court and his lady-wife, the Queen.

And she was the Hero of Ferelden and they watched her too, for though they were grateful for her heroics and pretended acceptance of her elevated station, she was still an elf from the city slums and secretly they all longed to see her stumble.

It seemed hours before the musicians took an intermission, and the dancing ceased. He searched for her in the great hall, but she was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she had slipped off with one of the fawning nobles; but no, that was instinctive jealousy and she was a free woman to do as she would.

Suddenly he needed some air. He headed up to the battlements, and turned his face skyward, looking at the bright, still stars in the clear skies overhead, feeling the cool air across his flushed face.

A figure stood at the parapets, facing northward.

“Does the Warden Commander long for her home in Amaranthine?” he asked.

“Alistair,” she greeted him, not turning. “Or should I call you, Your Grace, perhaps?”

He moved to stand beside her. He saw her bare arms covered in goose flesh against the cold, and longed to wrap an arm around her as he might have done long ago, when they stayed up late on watch together by the campfire.

“Still getting used to that. I'd like it if you called me Alistair... I miss my name on your lips.”

“And what would the Teyrns and Banns think to find me calling you by your given name in the dark of the night when it's just the two of us?” Her tone was playful, but her eyes were searching as she turned towards him. “If only they knew how often I whispered your name in the night when we traveled together.”

He couldn't help but laugh, a soft chuckle and a slight smile. Many in the court would be scandalized, but they'd relish the gossip. Looking into her eyes, he sensed she longed for a return to those days as he did; things had been simpler, then. They'd merely been two Grey Wardens, with no reason not to be madly in love as they traveled Ferelden together on a quest to stop the Blight. How had things gone so wrong?

“Maker's breath, but you're beautiful,” he murmured, staring at her in the moonlight. She tensed at his words and took a step back, and he cursed himself for a fool.

“How is your lady-wife? This ball is to celebrate the furthering of the royal line, is it not?” she asked, and he turned away. “Are we hoping for a little golden haired prince or princess?”

“Anora wishes a daughter. I would not begrudge her if it were; I am simply happy to have a child at all.” He smiled faintly. He liked the idea of fatherhood. He turned back to her, but she'd taken another few steps back and away from him, her mouth a bitter line. He reached out a hand. “I never... got the chance to tell you-”

“Warden-Commander?” A masculine voice interrupted. A figure in blue and silver Warden armor was approaching. One of her guards, perhaps, a tall human with dark hair and a bow slung across his back.

“Alistair,” she said, softly. She was still backing away, her face now lost in shadows. “I miss you, too. But we both know, it never would have worked out. Love your wife, and your children, and try not to think on what might have been. Move on; as I have.” She turned and intercepted the approaching man. The pair headed back to the tower door, and he couldn't help but see how the other Warden brushed his fingers at the small of her back, gently guiding her as she walked at his side. There was an intimacy as she turned her head towards him to hear some murmured remark; a gentle adoration as he smiled down on her.

 _Move on_ , she'd said. Perhaps it _was_ time.


End file.
